Stefan van de Sande

Vineyard

Vineyard

There is a vineyard where grapes grow
Till the end of November when the first snow
Arrives in the night whith the North-Eastern air
Mercyful crystals, honest and fair
Touching the vines with their hands
Covering the fields and the lands

In that vineyard, halfway up the hill
Where the sounds are silenced and words become still
There's a cross and a bench where people can rest
Where they close their eyes and take a deep breath
Where they think, where they pray
Before they continue their way